13, Unlucky For Some: The Book of Max
by Absolutely Fabulous
Summary: A collection of unrelated Maximum Ride shorts and poetry. Takes five minutes to read per entry but the impact will last a lifetime.
1. I Never Want To See You Again

**Hey, this is my sceond Maximum Ride fanfic. With hindsight, I would have added my previous story, Under The Stars to this, but it's done now. I've rated it K+, but please tell me if you think it should be higher or lower. If the reception is good, a second collection will be published in the future. Enjoy!**

* * *

Max

I know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now, and I wouldn't be surprised if you tore this up straight away without reading it. Actually, no. You probably wouldn't even bother opening it altogether, because you wouldn't think I'm worth the energy. And I don't blame you. But please, I'm begging you, just hear me out.

I'm sorry okay? Sorry for making such a mess of everything. It seems that everything I touch, everyone I love… everything gets destroyed in the end, no matter how hard I try. I'm like a poison, spreading death and devastation wherever I go.

I want to thank you as well. You looked after Ari when he needed it most, when he was dying but I was too wrapped up in my work to notice him. And I know how much it cost you - it nearly split the flock in half - and yet you did it, you stuck by him, simply because he was your brother. In those final weeks, he was probably more happy then he'd ever been in his life. He was a good kid, but I was only interested in what I couldn't have, and despite everything, he never stopped loving me. That was why he did all those terrible things to you - to get my attention, and I feel awful. I made him into another one of those pathetic experiments that Itex are only too fond of creating, and he went along with it, just to please me. I turned him into a monster! All he wanted was the three of us to be one big happy family, and I couldn't even give him that.

And above all, I want you to know that I never meant to kill the flock. I swear I didn't know what they were planning, and as soon as I discovered the truth, I did all I could to save them. Sometimes, things happen which out of our control - you of all people should know that. I'm not asking for your forgiveness - I know I don't deserve it - but please, just know that I didn't mean to. You_ know_ I would never do a thing like that; I love you too much. Didn't all those years I spent with you when you first got of the School teach you anything? I gave up _everything _to keep you guys safe. You were like the family I never had. And the family I _did _have? Yeah, I guess I kind of messed any chances with them too.

Your loving father, Jeb

* * *

Jeb

You're right. I will never, _ever_ forgive you for you did, for what you put them through. I wouldn't even have written to you if my mom hadn't had persuaded me to. Yeah, that's right - _mom. _But don't expect me to be calling you dad anytime soon. I don't know how you can even think of calling yourself that. Don't try to contact me again. We're moving in a few days time. I don't know where exactly we're going, and to be honest, I don't really care, just so long as it's as far away from you as possible.

Your hating _un_-daughter, Max

* * *

Jeb

I don't know what's happened - Max won't talk to me about it - but please, just respect her wishes and stop pestering us. She doesn't want to talk to you, okay? Don't you get it? When I first met you, when you forced me to do those things, you made me feel like nothing, like I was worthless. I wanted to _die_. I never told Max the truth because I didn't want her to hate me. I didn't want her to think I was weak. But maybe I should. She deserves to know just how evil her father is. How I _didn't _donate my eggs to the School. What _really _happened. Max was the only good thing to come out of it, and yet even then, when she was born, you just wouldn't leave it, would you? You've destroyed her, Jeb. My beautiful daughter.

Dr Valencia Martinez


	2. No One is Getting Married

**This second story is dialogue between Max and Angel set shortly after the fifth book. Any sentences in italics is either the Voice speaking or stage directions.**

"Max?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"I'm glad you and Fang are together now."

"Thanks, sweetie."

"Max?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"I _told_ you it would all work out in the end, didn't I?"

"I know."

"Max?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"You know when you guys get married-"

"Whoa there. Who said we were getting married?"

"Iggy did."

_[Silence]_

"Max?"

"Yes, Angel?

"You're not _really _going to kill Iggy for saying that, are you?"

"No, Angel."

"Max?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"You're a terrible liar, you know."

_[Five minutes later]_

"Max?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"You know when you guys _do _get m-"

"Angel, we're not going to get married anytime soon."

"Okay, but when - _if _- you do, can I be a bridesmaid?"

"If I say yes, will you leave me alone for a while?"

"Of course."

"Okay, then."

_[Ten minutes later]_

"Max?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"I've been thinking…"

"And?"

"Say you and Fang had a baby-"

"Which we're not going to do."

"Yeah, yeah. But say you _did_. I'd be like its auntie, wouldn't I?"

"I guess so."

"Well surely that means I should have a say it what it gets named."

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether _we'd _get a say in it as well. Or whether you'd just use your powers to brainwash us into naming it on whatever you wanted."

"And if I didn't?"

"Then the answer would still be no."

"Max?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"Say you _were_ pregnant. How would you know? I mean, we're different -"

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"You could be pregnant right now and not even it."

_Holy cow! You're PREGNANT?!_

"For the last time, NO ONE is pregnant and NO ONE is getting married!"

_[Startled by Max's shouting, Fang materialises before them.]_

"_Fang_?!"

_[Sheepishly, Fang chuckles nervously and then leaves quickly.]_

_[Five minutes later]_

"Max?"

"WHAT?!

"Total is."

"Total's what?"

"Getting married."


	3. Moving On

_Flames licked at the previously pristine walls, turning the spotless white paint into an ugly black. Every way I turned, I was met with dead ends. There was no way out. We were doomed._

"_We're not going to make it."_

"_We can do it, Max, it's a little further," I insisted._

"_Fang.." Her voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper._

"_Come on, Max. Don't give up on me."_

"_I don't think I can.."_

"_Don't be stupid, we'll do it. We're the lat one, Max. The _only _ones. We have to get out of here." I desperately ran down each and every corridor, up what seemed like hundreds of flights of stair, searching for a way out. Max was close behind me, managing to keep up though I knew her strength was at an all time low, the light in her eyes all but extinguished. Ever since the others had died, she hadn't been the same, and weeks of torture at the hands of the merciless Whitecoats which occupied the Second School, deprived of food, had only worsened her condition, and as the days had passed, I saw her deteriorating even more. What made it even worse was that I was powerless to help her. I had promised to protect her, to make sure no harm came to her, and I had failed her._

_Finally, we reached the top floor of the Second School, and I grabbed whatever I could - chairs, fire extinguishers - and hurled it at the already crumbling ceiling, trying to make a hole big enough for us to take off through, whilst Max watched on. Eventually, I succeeded, and I punched the air in triumph. _

"_Yes!" _

"_I knew you could do it, Fang. I knew you'd get us out of here."_

_Wings outstretched, I blasted my way through the ceiling, not slowing down until the anxiety had dissipated._

"_We made it!" I exclaimed incredulously. "Max, we did it!" I swivelled round abruptly to look at Max, but was met with only the sight of an empty grey sky. "Max?" I called, frowning. And then I saw it. Below me, the Second School was a blazing inferno, wisps of smoke rising up from the building, tendrils of fire choking and suffocating the dull exterior. And in the midst of it all lay Max, my beloved angel, trapped in the murky depths of hell._

***

I woke up with a jolt, an invisible hand pulling me from the nightmare of dreams and painful memories. My forehead was covered with beads of sweats, my palms cold and clammy. It was always the same every single day - there was always that guilt for being the only one to make it out alive that lingered in the back of mind, a sort of niggling feeling, a voice which kept asking: what if? Maybe, if I had just done one tiny little thing, my flock would still be with me today. Still half asleep, I made my way to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The refreshing sensation instantly made me feel more alert.

The tempting smell of frying bacon drifted up from the kitchen, but I had long since lost all appetite. And anyway, I wasn't about to eat anything _he'd _cooked anytime soon. I took as long as I could washing myself, and then half heartedly sloped down the stairs. When I'd first started living here, I hadn't bothered coming down at all, preferring my own company, but then _he'd _started coming into my room to see why I wasn't up yet, and I didn't like him invading my privacy. My room was the only place I could truly call my own, and I didn't want it contaminated by his presence.

As usual, _he _was down there. He was always awake long before I was, even though he carried on working until past midnight. He is the person I hate most in the word, the last person I'd ever willingly choose to live with. He is the one who destroyed my life, and I will never forgive him. Jeb Batchelder, the father of the only girl I've ever loved.

Ignoring the plates of steaming hot food laid out on the table for me, I reached into the cupboard and pulled out a box of cereal, grabbing it straight from the packet and stuffing it into my mouth. It tasted like sawdust, but I didn't care.

"You look tired," Jeb said, his voice full of fake concern. It was a statement, one which required no interaction on my behalf. I'd made a habit of talking to Jeb as little as possible, only speaking when he asked me a direct question. "Have you been sleeping okay? I could get you a prescript-"

"No drugs," I interrupted firmly. I'd had enough of injections and Whitecoats to last me a lifetime.

"But you're not well," he protested, but he didn't press the matter any further. He knew it would be pointless to start an argument - once my mind was made up, I didn't change it. We sat - well, _he _sat, and I leant against the oven - there for a while, neither of us saying anything. It suited me just fine.

"I thought- perhaps you should go out today," suggested Jeb timidly. "The fresh air will do you good." He was gabbling now, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, pausing to adjust his glasses every so often. **(Author's note: does Jeb wear glasses? I forget. But who cares? - he does now.)** "Maybe you could either think about applying for a job-"

"Yeah, 'cos I bet there's loads of people looking for a winged freak," I muttered darkly. Jeb sighed, the way he always did when he was frustrated. He never rose his voice, or shouted at me, and that just irritated me even more. Then he leant forward, his eyes serious.

"I mean it, Fang. You can't just spend the rest of your life cooped up in here. Max wouldn't have wanted you to. You have to at least _try _to move on with your life."

"I don't _have _to do anything," I snarled. "And don't you _dare_ mention Max's name. She has nothing to do with you." Like I said before, I'd never willingly choose to live with Jeb in a million years. It was purely because of Max that I was here.

"_Fang." My ears pricked up, the way they always did whenever I heard her voice, and I sat up, alert. I hadn't realised she was awake, but now I did, I immediately shifted myself until I was staring straight at her, giving her my full attention. "You should get some rest," she said, placing a hand on my arm. _

"_I'm not tired," I insisted, even though I hadn't slept for days and there were dark rings under my eyes._

"_You're lying," she accused, sighing and retracting her hand. _

"_What do you want me to say, Max?" I snapped, regretting shouting at her as soon as the words left my mouth. "I miss them," I whispered sadly, my voice barely audible._

"_I know," said Max, wrapping her arms around me. "I do too." She nestled her head in my chest and I burrowed my nose in her hair, silent tears slowly cascading down my cheeks._

"_Fang," she murmured. "I want you to promise me something."_

"_You know I'd promise you anything," I said. "All you have to do is ask."_

"_If anything happens to me…"_

"_It won't. I'm going to look after you, Max. I promised your mother, when she di-" I stop talking mid-sentence._

"_I know, I know. But if something does - you've seen what we're up against - I want you to promise… I want you to promise you'll go back to Jeb."_

"What_?!"_

"_I want you t stay with Jeb."_

"_But Max, he _ruined _our lives!"_

"_I know, but he's changed, Fang. He's _different_. It's the best place for you - he can look after you."_

"_I will _never _go back to him, Max. You _know _that."_

"_Fang, you promised!" she said, her voice indignant.. I sighed._

"_I promise," I said, hugging her tighter._

I had already broken one promise - to her mother - and I was not going to break a second, no matter how much I despised my new living arrangements. As soon as Jeb had left for work, I retreated back to the tranquillity of my room. After making sure that I was alone, and that Jeb had not simply pretended to go to work, as he had before, I delved my hand underneath my pillow and pulled out a tan coloured feather. It was all I had left of the days which seemed like a lifetime ago. I'd been so lucky then, so _happy_, but now that world had been tore to shreds and I could no longer return. I gently stroked the feather, rubbing it against the side of my face. It still smelt of her, but I knew that in time, that would fade, and I would be left with nothing but memories of blurred faces which would grow more distorted and hazier each day. "I miss you," I whispered sadly.

***

When Jeb had accused me of staying cooped up all the time, he couldn't have been more wrong. In fact, I left the house almost every night - not that he, nor anyone else, for that matter, knew. It seemed pointless to stay in my room to endure another restless night spent tossing and turning. The only thing which had ever come close to the experience of flying was being with Max, and now that she had gone, whenever I flew, I remembered the time I'd spent with the flock, and could almost imagine her presence beside me. I felt _free _when I was airborne, alive.

I never ventured out during the day, preferring the cover of night to keep me hidden from others. Being in the company of strangers always made me feel uneasy, like there was some approaching danger and everyone else was in a on a secret that only I did not know. But few people were still outside by the time sky had turned dark, and if I avoided all the nightclubs and areas where numerous pubs were scattered about, then I was lucky - or rather, unlucky - to see anyone at all. Ad if I did, it didn't matter, because they rarely looked upwards, and with their poor normal human eyesight, the most they'd see is a black shadow barely visible against the midnight sky, and by the time it registered that I was far too big and the wrong shape to be something ordinary like a bird or plane, I was already gone.

"Get _off_ me." Those three words barely registered, but I quickly dropped down onto the roof of a dilapidated block of flats so that no one would see me. I figured it would probably be some plastered blonde with orange skin who had had too much to drink. "I said NO!" For some strange reason, something stirred inside me and I felt compelled to take a sneaky glance at what was going on underneath me. I swiftly and soundlessly dropped from the roof in one fluid movement, and then, making sure I was in a comfortable position, stood still until I blended in the shadows and basically disappeared, like a chameleon. A young girl a few years younger than me had been pinned against the wall by a tall muscular boy, who I guessed was one of those popular guys at school, the type who made it onto all the sports teams and hung around with blonde cheerleaders with short skirts. His hair was chocolate brown, with expensive looking highlights, and everything about him was perfect: his eyes were just about the right distance apart, his jaw as angular, his lips thin. Just the type I loathed whenever I saw them.

The girl wasn't exactly pretty or stunning, but she had that sort of homely quality which made her seem warm and friendly. And she had the most amazing hair. Thick glossy curls grew way past her shoulders, bright red like the coat of a fox cunning and lithe. I could tell from the forceful way the guy the held her, the way the girl struggled helplessly, like a butterfly caught in a net, the way her blue eyes were filled with fear that she was in trouble, unless someone else stepped in. Okay, so it wasn't the brightest idea I'd ever had, but it was Max would've done - helped someone who was in trouble, like she'd done with her half sister years ago - and anyway, for some starnge reason completely unknown to me, I _wanted _to help.

"Hey," I called, emerging from the shadows. I had taken off my black hoodie, exposing my raven black wings. It was the first time I'd shown them to a complete stranger for years. I just hoped he wasn't going to suddenly turn into an Eraser and this whole thing had been a set up. "God doesn't like you."

"What the-" The boy swivelled round to look at me, perplexed. He narrowed his eyes, half expecting a TV crew to come out, saying it was all some kind of prank played on him and he was going to be the star of a brand new show that they aired on those corny game show channels. I held his gaze, my eyes unblinking. "God doesn't like you," I repeated. "This was all a test." The girl had taken this time to break free, and now she stood beside the boy, head held high, all previous traces of fear gone. Let me tell you, she seemed to be handling the whole wings thing remarkably well, and part of me even wondered whether she was some Whitecoat from the School in disguise. (Crazy, I know, but then again, scientists from the School aren't exactly well known for their saneness.)

"Looks like you just failed," the girl said defiantly, playing along, and then she punched him in the face, causing a scarlet fountain to erupt from his nose, taking even me by surprise. I watched for a while as the two teenagers fought, my intervention no longer needed. She was a good fighter, for a girl, and I found myself wondering who would win in a fight against her and Max. There was something oddly entrancing, even poetic, in the way she moved, nimble and graceful, almost as if she were dancing. I could tell the boy had had no chance, and just as he started scuttling away, I began to take off, before anyone could interrogate me.

"Wait!" the girl cried out. I ignored her and continued flying. "You can't just leave!"

"Why? Were you planning on inviting the weird mutant freak back for tea?" I muttered sourly, not even bothering to look back.

"Not weird," she breathed. "Beautiful."

"What did you just say?" I asked, swivelling round and landing sharply. It wasn't every day I got complimented by some random stranger.

"I said your wings… Never mind."

"In that case, just thank me, and I'll be off."

"_Thank_ you?" the girl exclaimed incredulously.

"For rescuing you," I reminded gently.

"I didn't _need_ rescuing! I was fine by myself."

"Suit yourself," I said, preparing to take off again. This time, I wasn't interrupted.

I settled on top of the block of flats again, and watched as the girl stood there for a few moments, dumb founded, and then she pulled herself together and began to walk, presumably making her way home. When I was sure she had gone, I swooped back down again, narrowly avoiding a knocked over dustbin that lay abandoned on the sidewalk, rubbish spilling out of it. As I did so, I noticed a flash of gold amongst the dull grey cobblestones. Intrigued, I picked it up, and found it was a bracelet: about half a dozen charms hanging on a delicate chain. The girl's? And for some strange reason - there must have been something in the air that night - I started to glide above buildings and trees until I had caught up with the girl. But did I stop there? No. My curiosity got the better of me and I decided to follow her all the way home. And even then, I didn't just give her her bracelet back like a normal person would. Because I knew that would mean never seeing her again.

***

"Someone looks happy today," remarked Jeb when I eventually came downstairs the following morning. I tried to work out what is his words were laced with. Gladness? Suspicion? Wariness? But for once, I didn't care what Jeb thought. Not even he could spoil my good mood today. For once, I'd slept soundly through the night, untroubled by bad dreams and painful memories. Whether the fact I was no longer dwelling on the past in my sleep was a good thing, I was not sure. I was feeling so good, in fact, that I even possessed the desire to eat, something which I had not had since I had lost the only family I had ever known. I wolfed the bacon and eggs that Jeb always prepared hungrily - though of course, I waited until he was gone - and found my taste buds had started working again. They tasted _good._ I managed to get through at least three packets before my hunger had been quelled.

The rest of the day passed without event as I waited eagerly for night to arrive, all the time resisting the urge to drop by sooner. At last, the time came, after what seemed like a lifetime. I crept downstairs and made sure Jeb was fully preoccupied with his work, and then slipped out, relishing my freedom. I retraced my steps from last night until I came to the perfectly ordinary house. I landed behind a tall oak tree, and then hesitated, wondering if I'd gone wrong somewhere, and some stranger was going to get the shock of their life. Eventually, I summoned up the courage to edge closer. I wouldn't ring the bell - her mom would _never_ let me in, especially at this time. Instead, I flew up to one of the windows, peered in, and then gently pushed against it. Damn. It was locked. I don't know how long I hovered there, feeling slightly foolish, until the girl finally appeared. She was dressed in a turquoise satin dressing gown and her skin looked rosy and glowing, like she'd just stepped out the bath. I tapped on the window loud enough for her to hear, but quiet enough so no one else would. As she caught sight of me, her eyes widened in shock and she even briefly scanned he surroundings, contemplating whether she should find some kind of weapon.

"Surprise," I said dryly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed. "Are you crazy or something?"

"No," I replied. "Just a little cuckoo." Ugh. Now I was making lame jokes? What was up with me? The only time I've ever done that was when I was with…

"I don't know. My mom told me to never let strangers into the house. I don't even know your name."

"It's Fang."

"Louisa," she introduced, fiddling with the catch on the window to let me in. I snorted at the ordinariness, the plainness of her name as I carefully clambered in.

"He your boyfriend?"

"What?"

"That guy who attacked you."

"Something like that."

"This the first time you've ever had a boy in your room."

"That would be telling," "What's with all the questions anyway? And what are you doing here?"

"You left this in the alleyway last night," I explained, tossing the bracelet onto the bed, where she caught it with one hand.

"My dad gave it to me, " she said absent-mindedly. There was a faraway look in her eyes, like she'd forgotten I was still there. "He left it to me in his will.. How did you know where to find me?" she asked, snapping out of her trance.

"I might of… followed you when you went home."

"Followed? Or stalked?" Louisa interrogated accusingly, one eyebrow raised.

"That would be telling," I shot back. I had intended it to sound casual and witty, but I couldn't stop a stupid grin creeping across my face. All the time, Louisa had acted cool and collected, like it was perfectly normal to have a bird kid in your bedroom at night. "Why do you do that?" I asked.

"Do what?"

"You act as if… as if I'm _normal."_

"And aren't you?" she asked, not making eye contact. She fiddled with her duvet as she spoke, rubbing the soft material with he fingers.

"I have _wings_!"

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Louisa said sarcastically. Then she sighed, and deemed it reasonable to give me a proper answer. "I guess it just doesn't make a difference to me what people look like. Some people are black, some people are white. Some people have curly hair, some people have straight. And some people don't have wings, and some people… do, apparently. I guess it's probably because I've always felt like an outsider, never properly accepted in the dumb popularity system at school. I've never fitted in. I guess it's just a kind of consolation that I'm not the only social misfit."

"Thanks," I said. "I should probably go now…" I trailed off, preparing to make my way out.

"Wait!" Louisa called out, rushing over to the window. "Thanks for what you did last night. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," I said, ducking back out in the crisp night air.

"Wait!" Louisa pulled me back a second time.

"Is this going to be a habit with you?" I asked, and then before I knew it, Louisa's lips forced themselves against mine, and she wrapped her arms tightly around my neck. At first, I struggled, but I soon relaxed, my wings encapsulating us in our private cocoon. The kiss lasted for a few wonderful minutes, until Louisa suddenly broke out of our embrace, staggering slightly as she stepped backwards.

"Sorry," she apologised, her cheeks flushing.

"Don't be," I said, before pulling her back for a second kiss.


	4. Nudge's Song

**The absence of a capital letter at the start of each line is intentional.**

You see those girls

you know the type:

all blonde hair and fluff

and bright blue eyes

that make young hearts flutter

and old ones sigh.

The caring mother, full of despair,

pulls them aside, pats their hair

takes one look are cries in their ear:

"You're not going out like _that _are you, dear?"

They sigh and tut

and roll their eyes.

"You're _so _old fashioned!"

No big surprise.

I could be that girl.

The one whose greatest worry

is split ends

and why David or Luke or Johnny

hasn't called back yet.

Does this skirt go with this belt?

It's so unfair, Dad!

But I _need_ it!

But I'm not.

I have no mother.

She didn't want me.

and yet still, I want her.

I long to feel her

wrap her arms around me

swear she'll never leave me

hear her whisper my name

into my hair:

_Monique._

I had a glimpse of reality once.

For a few blissful weeks

I found myself

in a school that taught kids

rather than messed up their genes.

and then it was taken from me.

and I was reminded how fragile life is.

how like a snow globe

all it takes

is one shake

and then you find yourself

upside down.

Don't get me wrong.

I know the grass isn't always greener on the other side.

Sometimes your demons haunt you

sometimes new ones hide.

And don't think I'm mistaken.

I'm no fool.

What about your friends?

you say.

Would you really give them up?

and the answer is no.

but I know we'd find each other.

I just know.

Max tells me I'm different

_special, _she says.

Yeah, I'm different alright.

Different as in _freak._

**Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter; sorry I've taken so long to update. May the new year bring all you fanfic readers happiness and chocolate (the rest we can deal with). Speaking of the new year, I was thinking of adding a chapter called "The Flock's New Year's Resolutions" or something like that. Tell me what you think, and mail (NOT review) any ideas you have and I may include them (with your name, obviously - hey, as Picasso said, "Bad artists copy, good artists steal." And no, I don't really see what relevance that quote has either.).**


	5. Naming Names

**Sorry for the **_**very **_**long wait for this chapter, it's been sitting half finished on my computer for a while now; I've grown a bit lax with the writing. I also have a bit of a confession to make: I'm not sure if I'll make it to thirteen, I have a few more ideas, but I've started to go off Maximum Ride a bit - I don't think it ever recovered since the fourth book. Was the latest one any good? I'll do as much as I can, but characterisation may not be spot on because I'm not as familiar with the books as I was when I started. Sorry.**

Ugh. You know those first few minutes just after you wake up when your eyes are still adjusting to the light? Yeah, that sucks. Shafts of sunlight penetrate the flimsy curtains, making me even more disorientated. Wait a minute. Sunlight? Since when did they install windows in dog crates? And when did they get so _roomy_? I wonder, as I realise my movement is not confined by metal slats. I frown slightly as I become aware of the fact I am not in a dog crate, but in a _room_. With beds! And I am wearing real clothes for a change, not just those stupid white medical gowns the Whitecoats normally make us wear. I am not alone. One of the other subjects in the avian hybrid experiment is with me, too, a coffee skinned girl about seven years old. She's not yet woken up, but she moves about wildly in her sleep, lashing out at the pillow, the duvet, anything she can reach. It's a wonder she hasn't managed to knock anything onto the floor yet. She's the only one of us who actually knows their real name - the Whitecoats generally don't bother treating us like proper people. Instead, they label us with a dumb number, putting us through their pointless tests until we're exhausted and can barely move. She only found out because she snuck a glance at one of their files.

The irresistible smell of bacon wafts into the room, making my mouth water. Whoa. Something's definitely wrong with this picture. Since when did the School start being _nice_? And then I remember.

"Where are we?" the girl says, suddenly waking up with a jolt. It surprises me how alert she is, like she's been awake for hours, not just a few seconds. But that's the way it is with us: we sleep, but never truly go to sleep; there's always a part of us which remains conscious, a part which refuses to allow us to let down our guard. It's the same part of us which has kept us alive on several occasions.

"I don't know," I reply truthfully. The girl wrinkles her nose as she too catches the smell of bacon which lingers in the air. But she ignores it. I've taught her well.

"A trap?" she questions.

"No," I say firmly. "Jeb wouldn't do that to us." Jeb. The only Whitecoat who's ever shown us a shred of kindness. He smuggled us out of the School yesterday. I don't know how, exactly. But we're free now - or are we? - and that's all that matters.

Suddenly, the door starts to open, and I tense myself, wings outstretched and fists up, ready to fight. My companion does the same. "Good morning, girls." Jeb. I relax - but only slightly. Behind him, small, blonde girl follows, two, verging on three years old. She says nothing, just stares at me with wide eyes. This girl is the youngest of the flock, my sweet, innocent angel.

The other girl is unusually quiet. I, on the other hand, have plans of my own. "Where's the rest of the flock? What are we doing here?" I ask, cutting to the chase. "Where _is_ here?" No point hanging around. I need to find out as much as I can, so I can evaluate the situation and work out what's best for us. Jeb's clever, and I'm sure he'd never intentionally do anything to hurt us, but for all he knows, there are hundreds of Whitecoats outside, assembled and ready to storm the place. Even though this room is infinitely better than the dog crates I'm used to - the absence of chains and needles injecting me with God knows what being a major plus - for some reason, I can't allow myself to get truly comfortable. Pretty dumb, huh? Suspicious me _asking_ to go back, asking to be tortured all over again. But at least when we were in the School, we knew what was happening to us. Uncertainty is something that makes me feel worse, queasy even.

"All in good time," Jeb replies, his voice even, calm. _Patient. _I frown. Jeb's not usually one for vagueness and sugar coating. From the day we met him, he's always been straight with us. When I was a lot younger, the Whitecoats used to play tricks with us, telling us those little white pill were sweets, presents for us because we'd been so good. Lies. All lies. But Jeb would never hide the truth from us. He'd try to avoid it, yes, avoid looking at us when he revealed the awful enormity of our doomed situation, but he'd always tell us in the end.

I look at the blonde girl and wait. She nods, an almost imperceptible movement, and I know that we can trust Jeb - for now, anyway. The girl has an uncanny knack for telling when people are telling the truth, how someone is feeling, whether the Whitecoats were going to treat us bad that day, or _really_ bad. I joked sometimes that she could read minds, but she'd furrow her brow and shake her head defiantly. I later understood that her "gift" was vaguer than that, more of a feeling than actual visions, and that it came and went. This took a lot time to learn - how was she supposed to explain something like that when all we'd learnt of language came from the eavesdropped conversations of the Whitecoats and the few time we'd spent with Jeb that were long enough for us to actually get anywhere? But all things considered, my little angel had coped well. She's young, but strong, and seems more able to pick things up than the rest of us.

In truth, I didn't know whether her "powers" were the result of the experiments inflicted upon us - it didn't make sense she was the only one showing such signs - of whether it was really right for those excruciating hours of pain and unending agony could really be called experiments. Jeb said people conducted experiments to find out things. I said the Whitecoats obviously weren't very good at experiments because they had to keep carrying out new ones. Then Jeb had to go away because another Whitecoat was coming, and I didn't see him for weeks after that.

We go downstairs in silence, and enter a small room with a table and some weird looking machinery, metal cuboid blocks. The rest of the flock - three boys, two about the same age as me, and one slightly younger, the real brother of the blond girl - are sitting around the table, and the fist squeezed round my heart lessens its grip a little. Several plates of food lay in front of them uneaten, and they all keep sneaking glances at each other, not really sure what to say. When I enter the room, everyone looks at me, the unofficial leader of the flock, being the oldest by a few months, waiting for some sort of signal. I give a small nod and the flock and I begin to devour the food on the table like wild beasts. Manners have no place here - all we care about is eating, and boy, does this stuff taste good.

"The first thing we need to sort out is names," Jeb says. "Now Monique," he continues, looking at the coffee skinned girl who I'd shared a room with the previous night, "I know you already know yours, but if you want, you can still pick another."

"But there are so many names!" she squeals. "I could be Tiffany, Courtney, Lisa, Joey…"

One of the older boys - black hair, and with weird eyes that are so dark you can barely see where his pupils end and his irises start, except that there's an outer rings where, if you look close enough, you can just make out some gold flecks - stares at him, and then whispers one word, barely audible so that I have to strain my ears to hear it.

"Fang." He didn't say much, and when I'd first seen him, I wondered if the Whitecoats had done something to his voice box that meant he couldn't talk anymore. But I soon learnt that that was just the way he is, and grown to accept it, even if it did spook me out a little. Everything about him is silent and soundless, even the way he moves. He's a shadow, hidden in the darkness. Or maybe even a black panther sneaking up on its prey. I hadn't decided yet.

"Or Crystal or Joss or Katy or Michaela or Steph… Oh, how do I choose?"

It's the youngest boy's turn next. "Isn't it obvious?" he says, grinning madly. His ability to smile despite everything that had happened was one which I'd always been in awe of, admired even, and one that I'd never fully understood - was it just that he was too young to understand what was happening to him? Unfortunately, he also had other… er, _abilities_, ones that were much less welcomed, especially not by the Whitecoat on night duty.

"Isn't what obvious?" I ask, sighing. It's possible to admire something yet at times find it grating - you know how they say you always love your family, even if you may not always _like_ them? (Not that I'd ever truly know - the flock are the only family I'd ever known, and perhaps that's a good thing.) The role of "leader" was one I didn't always like, because I didn't always have the answers, and that troubled me, because what sort of leader was I if I didn't know how to keep the flock safe? It was something I'd just grown to accept, like the fact I'd never make it out of the School.

"My name," he replies, rolling his eyes in exasperation and looking at me as if I'm stupid.

"Go on!" I urge impatiently, verging on the edge of frustration. Suddenly, he turns red and screws up his face in concentration. This is never a good sign. And sure enough, he lets rip, and we all groan, all except one.

"The Gasman!" he cackles, and then him and the blind one erupt into laughter, doing that dumb high five thing that guys do. (Or was it just them? What did I know about "normal" guys?)

"Cool," he - the blind one - says appreciatively. I admit, it seems wrong to refer to someone as "the blind one" but when we've got no other ways of distinguishing ourselves, what can you do? It has a certain ring to it, and at least it was easier to remember than "Subject 152849463749". I should explain - he wasn't born blind. But those evil scientists were doing some night vision experiment, and unfortunately, they weren't successful. It was the last straw for Jeb, who didn't want the rest of us going the same way, and I'm glad for it. It's bad enough being the messed up result of a modern day Frankenstein - I don't know what I'd do if I lost my sight as well.

"Or Harriet or Elizabeth or Mischa…" The girl witters on. I often wondered if the Whitecoats had done something to _her_ voice box, too - she seems to talk an excessive amount. But then I realised people can be messed up without having ever been experimented on, and that sometimes there's a fine line between being messed up and being human. I'd caught her looking at one of the magazines one of younger Whitecoats had left out once, a glossy thing, with headlines that seemed to scream at you and pictures of pretty but constipated looking girls wearing silly clothes. To me, _they_ were the ones that looked like freaks, but apparently, in the real world, they were classed as normal.

"An -An," a quiet voice pipes up by my side - the other girl. I crouch down, trying to understand what she wants.

"What is it|? Angela?" I try, but the other girl shakes her head. Us bird kids develop fast, and despite the fact she's still a baby, her beautiful porcelain face is already framed with a veil of blonde curls. "Alice? Angelica? Anne? Angelina?" I rattle off a list of names, but none of them seem to fit. Then she stares at me with those heart-breakingly blue eyes, and finally, I get it. "Angel," I say, my mouth curling up into a smile.

The boys - well, two of them - look deep in conversation, and occasionally the young one looks around the room, pointing at stuff, forgetting the "blind one" can't always see what he's gesturing to. But he's talking at the same time, and I realise he's describing the room. I look around our surroundings myself. It's obvious now that Jeb exaggerated when he talked about it before. From listening to his descriptions, I'd imagined a palace, but the reality is far less grand. The house looks a little shabby, like it could do with a bit of a clean. The paint on the walls is peeling, and there are yellow stains in the corners of the room. There's no real _order_ to anything; books lie everywhere: face down on the coffee table, kept open with a half filled mug, or lying in stacks on the worn carpet, which is strewn with random garments, stray socks and even the odd takeaway carton, its spilled contents forming a congealed mass on the floor. Nice.

But I like the fact it looks _lived_ in, you know? Like a home. Not like the blindingly white, sterile environment of the School.

"Or Louise or Amy or Jennifer…"

The boys stop talking briefly, so that the older blond one can reveal his chosen name: Iggy. I try not laugh - hey, it's his choice. At least he's actually chosen one. I turn my attention back to the room, hoping for some inspiration. The flaky walls are lined with framed pictures and articles. I don' recognise any of the faces, and there are too many words for me to be able to concentrate long enough to read and understand the texts on the walls, but I know from what Jeb told me that they're mostly scientists, and as I look at them, I notice that they're mainly men, apart from one of a woman with short, brown hair. She doesn't have the sort of face that would stand out in a crowd; in truth, she looks a little plain. But there's something in her eyes that refuses to let you ignore her, a steely determination and inner confidence.

"Jeb, who's that woman in the picture?" I ask, intrigued. He glances in the direction I'm pointing in before answering, "That's Sally Ride. She was the first American woman to go into space."

I think about that for a moment. Ride. There's something kind of cool about that name, it's an adventurer's name, the name of someone who needs business. But the name Sally doesn't really fit. I want my own name, one as original as the rest of the flock's. I'm by no means normal, so why should I have a normal name? No offence to Ms Ride, of course - but Sally's her name, not mine. I need something of my own, too. Something that describes me as a person, and isn't just a rip off of some astronaut, however cool she is. Something like…

"Maximum," I blurt out. "Maximum Ride." Everyone turns to look at me, the newly named Fang looking, for once, on the verge of a smile. Angel tugs on my shirt.

"Max-ee-um," she tries, struggling to get her tongue around the word.

"Max for short," Jeb suggests. I nod, agreeing, wondering if I've made the right choice. There's something kind of pretentious about the name "Maximum". "Max" on its own doesn't sound quite so bad.

"You can't have a boy's name!" The coffee skinned girl squeals, appalled. She digs her elbow into my ribs as she says this. Her incredibly _sharp _and _pointy _elbows, I might add.

"Hey!" I cry out irritably. "Quit nudg-"

"Ohmygod," she exclaims, barely pausing to breathe, but finding the time to prod me again. "That's it! It's perfect!"

"What is?" I ask, rubbing my sore ribs.

"Nudge - my new name!" she declares, rubbing her hands together with glee.

"Max, Fang, Iggy, Nudge, the Gasman and Angel," Jeb says, deep in thought.

Gazing round the room, my eyes fall on another picture, this one standing next to a dusty phone. In it, a baby is nestled comfortably in the arms of a man - presumably his father - his eyes looking up adorably. I gasp as I recognise the man in the picture. It can't be.

It's Jeb.

"Who's that?" I ask, pointing to the picture, question flitting around in my head like a swarm of angry bees. Who is the baby in the picture? Why is he with Jeb?

"It doesn't matter," he says quickly. _Too_ quickly - does he hide more than he lets on? He picks it up and stares at it for a while, like he can't quite recognise the faces in it, all the while avoiding my gaze.

"Max…" he says, breaking. "I want you to live me."

"Live with you?" I repeat, slightly dumbstruck.

"Yes, live with me," he confirms.

I don't know what to say. I look over to the flock, who mostly look back at me with pleading eyes. I know what they're thinking: say yes, this is the closest we'll ever get to normalcy and freedom. But there's also a nagging fear deep inside me - we hardly know anything about Jeb. And then I think of our lives so far, and how much they've sucked up until now. I think of the Whitecoats and the School and the flock, and then I make my decision.

"Okay," I say, my voice wavering slightly. Nudge and Angel and the Gasman hug each other, happiness etched on their faces whilst the others look a little uncertain.

"Max, Fang, Iggy, Nudge, the Gasman and Angel," Jeb repeats, a faraway look in his eyes.


	6. If I Could Just Fly

**A big hi to any of you wonderful people who were there from the beginning, and to those who've joined the ride. I did oginally intend this to be the last chapter, but by the looks of things, there's not going to be a Chapter 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 or 12 in the near future - as I pointed out last chapter - unless the, er, inspiration fairies decied to pay me a visit and bring the motivation monster with them. And yes, I did just say "inspiration fairies" and"motivation monster". Hmm.  
**

**Anyway, here's a short-and-sweet-deep-thinking-reflection poem to leave you feeling all ponderous.  
**

If I could just fly,

I'd be up there in a shot.

cast off my old identity

like an unwanted garment

and readily leave my purgatorial life,

my dark world riddled with secrets

waiting to trip me up.

I'd proudly soar over skyscrapers and office blocks

feeling the sun scorch my beautiful winged back.

I'd turn around and say:

You know what? I _am _somebody.

to all those who'd ever laughed at me

who'd ever doubted me

who'd ever wounded me with their sharp, spiteful words.

And the flock would welcome me with open wings

because I'd be one of them.

no longer an awkward outsider

no longer the odd girl out

forced to watch from the sidelines

without ever being invited in.

I'd be accepted.

valued.

_loved._

And the Whitecoats?

The growing up in dog crates?

I'd say bring 'em on.

the M-Geeks

the Flyboys

the Erasers

word gets out

they're saying chase her

heart pounding

mind racing

no time to stop

no time to think

which path do I take?

left or right?

life or death?

body pulsing

wings flapping

I can't breathe

my limbs ache

I've been running for hours.

Yet to stop will mean capture.

A helpless bird trapped in a cage.

But who cares?

None of it would matter.

Because I'd be free.

A wandering spirit roaming the skies

Unharnessed by the normal teenage angst

Just free

And nothing else

_If I could just fly._


End file.
